


swallowing mud, swallowing glass

by monstermash



Series: the crown hangs heavy on either side [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Nonbinary Character, except for Cullen but bioware can keep him lmao, fuck canon no one is straight, there's two Adaars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25541362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monstermash/pseuds/monstermash
Summary: "Come again," the innkeeper says with an eerily familiar reedy voice, too long fingers drumming an off beat rhythm against the dusty countertop of the bar.Blackwall leaves the Sobbing Stag behind him as he goes, as if he's done this a hundred times before.
Relationships: Adaar & Blackwall (Dragon Age), Adaar/Blackwall (Dragon Age), Inquisitor & Adaar, Male Adaar/Blackwall, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: the crown hangs heavy on either side [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/909510
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

_The carriage rattles on down the road, flanked on both sides by two pairs of guards on horseback. They won't be enough to stop what happens next._

_His company wait patiently for his signal, the harsh downpour masking any sound they might make._

_A cause half of them believe in, the other half just wanting what is owed to them._

_On his signal his company descends on the carriage and its guards like a pack of wolves and he follows with. He's on the far side of the chaos, so he doesn't see the second carriage round the bend, but somehow not so far that he doesn't hear it over the strikes of metal on metal, of metal sinking into flesh and cracking bones. Close enough that what is heard turns the blood in his veins into ice, heart battering down his ribs. What does he do?_

_"Mockingbird, mockingbird, quiet and still, what do you see from the top of that hill? Can you see up? Can you see down?"_

_Young. Too Young. Small voices that make him think of Liddy, before that winter, before the fever, before—_

_"Can you see the dead things all about town?"_

_The mud runs a red so deep that not even the rain that sounds like a dog's cry can wash it away._

He wakes with a sharp inhale, pulse thundering in his ears, but he doesn't move an inch. The inn is mostly quiet, the soft sounds of people moving about in the kitchen below, most likely getting things ready for the day.

Pale grey light filters in through the mostly shuttered window, a bone deep weariness weighing him down. Breathing in deeply, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and goes about gathering his things; it was nice to sleep in a bed for once, but now it's back to the wilderness for him. Traveling from place to place, trying to help those who need it.

Trying to live up to his borrowed name.

"Come again," the innkeeper says with an eerily familiar reedy voice, too long fingers drumming an off beat rhythm against the dusty countertop of the bar.

Blackwall leaves the Sobbing Stag behind him as he goes, as if he's done this a hundred times before.


	2. Chapter 2

The old Imperial highway takes him west, further into the wilds of Ferelden without being _in_ the Wilds.

Most of the places out here are just a handful of farms or huts, barely even hamlets scattered throughout the Hinterlands. The only places coming close to being actual towns this far south are Redcliffe and Lothering.

Well, what _used_ to be Lothering.

Even now, anyone passing by can see the blight infested ruins; one doesn't need to be a Warden to see how the blood and rot is still poisoning the soil. Not even the crows go near, only fools - or those unfortunate enough - venture there.

He stands there, at a safe distance, and stares at the remains of Lothering, eyes fixed on the bones of a burned windmill on a hill, but it's not the town he is thinking of.

No, his mind wanders back to the coast, a roaring sea, guttural chittering nearly drowned out by a storm that flashed with iron blades, and—

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Blackwall moves on.

\---

Flat plains give way to fells and valleys, the freezing Ferelden weather his constant traveling companion since the sun seems to have gone missing.

The Crossroads give him shelter - they haven't forgotten what the Wardens did for them and Redcliffe during the Blight - and information. He'd seen soldiers on the road, a flaming eye on their breastplates giving them away as the Inquisition. One that hasn't existed for Ages, but any child from a Maker fearing family learns about them, even if they are just a footnote in the Chantry's long history.

Or _were,_ considering they seem to be making a comeback.

"Something to do with the temple up in the mountains," Giles tells him around the fire-pit his first night.

"Mages and Templars," the hunter, Taran, adds with a shrug as he stokes the flames. "Y'know, after what happened in Kirkwall. I guess this is the Divine's answer to settling things without calling an Exalted March."

"Oh?" Giles snorts. "And how would you know that? You spend all your time out in the woods."

"I hear things," Taran snaps. "More than _you_ do."

Blackwall keeps an eye on the bubbling pot while the two bicker away, clearly a familiar, well-worn thing between them. He hides the small smile stealing away onto his face so as not to be drawn into it, absolutely content to just listen.

\---

The world trembles as the sky rips and bleeds a sickly green.

Fire and ash follow in the wake left by Templars and Mages, bandits crawling out of the woodwork.

Taran comes back from his hunt empty handed and shaken, the look in his eye one that Blackwall knows all too well. The hunter doesn't join them around the fire-pit that night, looking ill at the scent of cooking meat.

(Blackwall is familiar with that as well.)

\---

The situation is looking bad.

Bad enough that bystanders are getting caught in the crossfire; farms being razed, opportunistic bandits taking advantage of the chaos, demons cutting down any who are unfortunate enough to stumble across their path, and the nobles turning a blind eye to it all.

The weight of his sword and shield are all the reminder he needs that _something_ can be done, that those who are willing can learn to defend. Even if they shouldn't have to; in a better world, the common folk wouldn't be left scrambling for safety, wouldn't be failed so terribly by their Banns and Arls. But this isn't a better world, and he knows well enough that not all nobles will do their jobs properly.

Well, if they won't, then he will.

\---

 _'Conscripting'_ farmers and their sons and daughters old enough to hold hand-axes and shields is something he's done before, but never quite like this.

Not with Templars and Mages and tiny rifts in the sky spitting out demons.

With Redcliffe's gates closed, there is nowhere to fall back to should things get worse than they already are. Lake Luthias is seemingly untouched by the war - if it can even really be called that - and has plenty of space for him to train his conscripts. They all surprisingly work well together, taking to forming shield walls like a fish to water, but some could really use extra practice on their footwork. Last thing he needs is for one of them to fall on their axe.

"Warden Blackwall?"

Turning to see who it is, his brow furrows at the sight of a lone Qunari coming from the lake's docks. Qunari aren't exactly hard to miss, so how had he gotten this close without being noticed? The flaming eye on the Qunari wears on his shoulder catches his eye first, then the lack of weapons on the Qunari's person save for a set of odd looking knuckledusters, but his eyes keep going back to the insignia. Giles and Taran's words from before the sky was ripped open comes back to him.

_(Something to do with the temple in the mountains. Mages and Templars.)_

Inquisition. An unknown so far in this conflict.

"How do you know my name?" he asks, his tone toeing the line of a snarl, planting himself between the conscripts and this stranger. "Who sent—"

A twig snaps and it's more due to reflex than thinking about it that he raises his shield in time, the arrow meant for the Qunari's heart sinking into wood and leather instead. When a wordless battlecry erupts from the trees, bandits swarming out not long after, Blackwall reluctantly puts his questions and suspicion aside.

For now.

\---

After he releases the conscripts, he begins to gather wood from the abandoned cabin's stockpile - no need to add possessed corpses into the mix - and is surprised when the Qunari helps him start building the bandits' pyre.

His wariness from earlier is still present, though now his curiosity is piqued as well after seeing what this stranger could do; a mage that doesn't use a staff but instead rushes into combat using a strange combination of magic and knuckledusters is not something normally expected. Though, perhaps that is the intent. Just looking at him, one would never suspect him of being a mage until it was too late.

"You're no farmer." That much is obvious and earns him a huff of amusement. "Why do you know my name? Who are you?"

A shrug as the last piece of wood is placed in the bandits' pyre. "Depends on who you ask. I've been called a lot of things over the years."

Blackwall fixes him with a glare as they move over to the corpses to start hauling them to the pyre. But the stranger doesn't deign to explain further, just a smile tinged with mischief at the edges, making Blackwall's patience wear thinner than it already was. "Well, _I'm_ asking you. Stop dancing."

"Meraad. I'm with the Inquisition. An agent, I suppose, if you want to be specific," he introduces himself as he lifts another dead bandit over his shoulder. Gold eyes watch his face intently as he continues with, "I've been looking into the missing Wardens and if it has anything to do with the Divine's murder."

Inhaling sharply, Blackwall's hold on one falters.

_The Divine is—? And the Inquisition thinks that the Wardens... No. Absolutely not._

"Maker's balls, the Wardens and the Divine?" Blackwall knows he isn't doing a good job of keeping his voice even, that his disbelief is bleeding through, but the mere _thought_ of the Wardens being involved in the Divine's murder is just too ridiculous. "That can't— No, you're asking, so you don't really know."

Meraad snorts, but makes a _'go on'_ gesture at him. "By all means, feel free to explain it to me."

"First off, I didn't know they disappeared, but we do that, right? No more Blight, job done, Wardens are the first thing forgotten. But one thing I'll tell you: no Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn't political."

(Well, except for the King of Fereldan and his husband, but it goes without saying that their situation is bit different from the rest of the Wardens. The exception, not the rule.)

"I'm not here to point fingers, I'm just looking for information," Meraad explains. "I've only found you. Where are the rest?"

With a quiet sigh, Blackwall sends a quick prayer to the Maker and Andraste before lighting the pyre - it's certainly no final rites, but it's better than nothing. Folding his arms over his chest, he watches the flames.

"I haven't seen any Wardens for months. I travel alone, recruiting. Not much interest because the Archdemon is a decade dead, and no need to conscript because there's no Blight coming. Treaties give Wardens the right to take what we need, who we need." The words feel heavy in his throat. Words that were once said to him, a long time ago. Maybe not verbatim, but close enough. Borrowed. Stolen. "These idiots forced this fight, so I 'conscripted' their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time they won't need me. Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are."

Meraad nods slowly, his own gaze fixed on the burning pyre as well when Blackwall glances at him. "Why haven't you gone missing like the rest of them?"

"Well, maybe I was going to. Or maybe there's a new directive, but a runner got lost or something. My job was to recruit on my own. Planned to stay that way for months. Years."

"Well, this wasn't exactly illuminating, but thanks all the same, Warden Blackwall. But now where does this leave us?" Meraad asks, the slight smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes.

And then, just like that, the conversation is over as Meraad turns away, heading back towards the docks. Blackwall takes in the relaxed slope of the Qunari's shoulders, the sedate pace he's keeping, the abrupt yet offhand end to their talk with very little information given; he knows when he's being baited. Obviously, but it's clearly intended to be.

Maker damn him, he's going to give in to it anyway.

"Inquisition... _Agent,_ did you say? Hold a moment," he calls out, catching up when Meraad readily stops and waits for him. At the very least, Meraad seems to be a decent enough person to not look smug about this right now. "The Divine is dead, and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we're absent is almost as bad as thinking we're involved. If you're trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me."

"The Inquisition needs all the support it can get," Meraad concedes, raising a brow at him. "But what can one Grey Warden do?"

Narrowing his eyes, Blackwall draws himself up at that challenge.

"Save the fucking world, if pressed." A flicker of _something_ lights up Meraad's eyes at his words. "Look, maybe fighting demons from the sky isn't something I'm practiced at, but show me someone who is. And there are treaties. Maybe this isn't a Blight, but it's bloody well a disaster. Some will honor them. Being a Warden means something to a lot of people."

It's quiet between them for a moment, and there's a sinking feeling in his gut the longer the moment stretches, but he holds firm and waits.

A large, dark grey hand is held out and he reaches out for it without a second thought, returning the smile Meraad gives him.

"Welcome to the Inquisition, Warden Blackwall."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm not too wild about this chapter - it was mostly build up anyway but the dialogue for blackwall's recruitment scene always felt a little too stiff to me - but i've been looking at it for weeks and i just wanna start working on the next one lmao


End file.
